


Professor Potter Sets Down His Quill

by earlgreyhot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Snogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreyhot/pseuds/earlgreyhot
Summary: After a long day teaching at Hogwarts, Draco and Harry spend the evening marking up their students' essays. Only Draco isn't beyond getting jealous of the attention all that parchment is receiving from Harry.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 81
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2020





	Professor Potter Sets Down His Quill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CelestialCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialCat/gifts).



> I was inspired by professor Harry and Draco, broody Harry, and cuddling and snuggling. It's a Very Broody Happily Ever After. Hope you enjoy, Apriicat. :)
> 
> Thank you to my beta, Little Ivy, for saving Christmas with the emergency beta. ♥

The night sky cloaked Hogwarts in a long and darker than black winter, the grounds blanketed with the coldest snow in years that was vengeful with its frost and constant blizzards. Wind shook the window of Harry’s office, flurries swirling and falling in tiny, white mountains on the ledge and diamond leaded bars. Draco’s attention had long waned from reading his O.W.L.s level students’ essays on Amortentia to instead focus on the blizzard, then the crescent moon illuminating the heavy, gray clouds, until finally, he grew content watching Professor Harry Potter mark up his pile of Defense Against The Dark Arts essays covering Dementors, the Patronus Charm, and the finer art of vigilance. They were grading the last of the essays before exams ruled everyone’s lives. 

Harry stared gloomily down at a four-foot-long parchment, quill scratching notes and corrections. Draco pitied the poor, unfortunate first year critiqued in the margins by the legendary Harry Potter, the man of everyone’s dreams. 

The school day had ended ages ago, their minds sluggish and drowsy from dinner. It struck Draco as absurd that after a long, exhausting day of snow and gloomy clouds that Harry poured all of his remaining energy into that quill when he ought to focus on more worthwhile pursuits. Namely, Draco. 

Tossing down his quill, Draco stretched out and leaned far back until his chair creaked and his foot nudged Harry’s under the desk. 

Harry glanced up and looked, not at Draco’s eyes, but lower, at his torso. 

Smirking, Draco rose, stretching his arms high and feeling a luxurious pull in his shoulders and back. He scratched roughly at the light scruff that had grown over the day. The tip of Harry’s quill poised over the parchment, his shoulders a little tense. 

Draco stopped behind him and placed his hands on the back of Harry’s leather chair. He leaned his weight down and pulled Harry backward, forcing him to look up at Draco. 

Harry tiredly gazed at him, dark eyebrows crinkling. “What?” he said bluntly. 

“I need a second opinion on a mark I gave.” 

“You had to walk over for that?” 

“Yes.” 

Draco slipped a hand over Harry’s shoulder, lightly tracing his fingertips along Harry’s neck, mesmerized by the scratchiness of the dark shadows over his jaw. Harry’s throat bobbed beneath his hand. Draco never once beckoned Harry to relax and let Draco’s touch guide him, yet still, Harry rested into his palm as though Draco were a pillow. He rubbed Harry’s earlobe between his fingers and watched those green eyes flicker and droop closed. 

He only had to convince Harry to walk through the door just beside the bookshelves, the one that lead to Harry’s bedroom. It would not take much. What Harry lacked in observation he more than made up for in brisk execution. 

Harry turned his chair around and spread his knees wide, trapping Draco between his legs. He reached up and grasped the end of Draco’s tie, pulling it softly. “Professor Malfoy,” he said, “you’re aware that my best marks in Potions were because I copied notes out of a book?” 

Draco found himself being drawn south, closer and closer to those gloomy, tired eyes and the slight curve of his lips. “I think I’ve forgotten.” He leaned so far down that he had to press his hands on the back of the chair to prevent himself from falling into Harry’s lap. “Why don’t you remind me…” 

Harry quieted the inquiry with a light press of his lips. 

The aches in Draco’s body and the fatigue dulling his mind bled into a dreamy nothingness. He closed his eyes and disengaged from the outside world, detecting only the sensation of Harry’s mouth. His heart pattered as their kisses discovered a lazy pace—the easiest, most relaxing activity he had done all day. His knees shook; he enveloped Harry in a serpentine embrace, the kind that he had perfected quite nicely over the years. He sat on Harry’s lap, the chair creaking and reclining from the added weight. He coiled an arm around Harry’s shoulders, palm firm on his scratchy jaw, and kept those lips right where he wanted them. 

Harry nipped at his bottom lip before biting down, hard and desperate. Perhaps he wondered if all of this between them was real. Forever. 

In the year that Harry first taught Defense Against The Dark Arts, he had stayed at the school over Christmas. Draco could not fathom it. Malfoy Manor had been cold, drab, and haunted by a quiet that was broken only by the memories lurking in the shadows of rooms no one dared to enter anymore. Harry had the massive, jolly Weasleys waiting for him—their dilapidated home, woodburning fires, those hideous sweaters. What in Merlin’s name was the prick doing still at Hogwarts while his lovely family waited for him? The Hogwarts Express had pulled out of the station like clockwork. Apparition was not affected by the weather. 

Like a smug little Slytherin with a grudge, he approached Harry one evening at dinner with eggnog in hand and a clever quip on the tip of his tongue. “Well, did you regress the intellect of our future generations, or not?” 

Harry took a long drink of eggnog. “Everyone says that Professor Malfoy is their favorite. The first years start out Potions by making fudge.” 

Hastily, Draco hid his face behind his goblet to prevent Harry from seeing his burning cheeks. His heart sung at the idea of his students liking him. “The more potent the better to battle chills after a Dementor attack.” 

Harry looked at him out the corner of his eye. Draco tried not to fidget. “I was wondering,” said Harry lowly. “I don’t know who else to ask. Everyone else has been here for ages except for you. I did not expect to—I rather like my students. They remind me of my old owl, Hedwig.” 

“Pardon?” 

“You know… she delivered the mail well; they performed a spell well. I’m happy for them. It’s exciting. Malfoy, why are you still here?” 

“Why are _you_ here, Potter?” 

“Divorced.” Harry lifted his goblet but looked down to ponder the eggnog, a frown line forming. “Mrs. Weasley said I’m always welcome. I believe that she believes it.” 

Harry fell silent, glowering at his eggnog. Draco nudged his shoulder. When Harry looked at him, Draco smiled ruefully. “My family’s no better. They hated my ex-girlfriend. She wasn’t… She wasn’t proper, you could say. I don’t like to visit them after I invited her for the Christmas feast.” 

Before Draco had thought that Astoria was the greatest mistake that a Malfoy heir could have made, but as Harry looked him over from head to toe, Draco grew happier than he had all year. He would soon learn that Astoria had been the second greatest mistake that a Malfoy heir could have made, and Harry Potter was the first. 

He wondered if Harry still hated Christmas after the years of them sharing them together at Hogwarts. 

Astoria had been finite, Harry’s marriage had been finite, but they were not. They had always been in the other’s orbit. In a very real sense, Harry could depend on Draco to always be there for him. 

The wind smacked hard against the window. The whistling from the vociferous blizzard sounded everywhere in Harry’s office, yet Draco could barely hear it. They kissed hungrily, lips smacking and groans tearing deep from their throats. Draco dug his fingers into Harry’s hair and tugged, drawing out a raspy breath. He gripped Harry’s hair so tight that he accidentally scratched his scalp. 

Harry flinched. “Ah!” 

Ice trickled through Draco. “Sorry, love.” 

A smile curled beneath Draco’s lips. “I liked it,” whispered Harry. 

“Oh.” Draco chuckled. “I’ll make note of it, then.” 

Harry nipped his smile and coaxed him back into kissing. He laid a hand on Draco’s inner thigh and traced lazy lines over the lining that joined the leg of his trousers. Draco tried to replicate the maneuver he had done on Harry’s hair, but his hand stilled, kisses slowing as he fixated on Harry’s touch moving so slowly that Draco began to doubt that Harry realized he had ignited an ember between Draco’s legs that grew warmer and harder at every slow whisk of Harry’s fingertips. 

He reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, but Harry stole his lips for another kiss. Draco had to put an end to it by pressing a hand on his chest. 

Harry quirked an eyebrow, asking silently for an explanation. 

Draco rubbed a thumb over Harry’s cheek. The weight of the world was in his hand as Harry relaxed into his touch. 

His eyes were very green, more so in the candlelight. The amber flame danced across his cheekbones, the shadows sharpening his long features. Harry did not look gloomy so much as tousled, sleepy. The closest to happy that Draco had seen him all night. Rubbing a thumb over Harry’s ear, Draco warmed him up until his eyes were fluttering and rolling back, relaxed and lost in the touch. 

Draco whispered in Harry’s ear, the black hair soft against his lips, “I love you, Harry Potter.” 

Harry’s hand stilled on his thigh. 

Harry might never say it back, but he ought to hear it. 

Draco kissed his ear, then leaned back slightly to catch his eye. Somber, he thought. Melancholic. Heavy with a thousand memories that Draco doubted Harry would ever tell him. That cycle of loving and losing remained an unfortunate fixture in Harry’s life. He pulled Harry tighter, closer to where he ought to be—with Draco. There was a glimmer in his eyes that shone from the moonlight, or with tears that Harry did not want to fall, but it shone bright past the sadness, and Draco knew. Harry loved him, too. 

Harry kissed him fiercely, gripping his thigh hard and rocking the chair back, banging it into the desk. They kissed until Draco forgot when they had started kissing, and the only thoughts in mind were marveling at how good Harry felt in his arms and wondering why he had never thought to spend Christmas with Harry Potter for every year that he had known him. Where else ought they be but together? 


End file.
